


take the chance, take the turn

by izumidos



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Racing, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, M/M, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izumidos/pseuds/izumidos
Summary: Running shitty people off is something Matt can claim responsibility for, but it's not Matt's fault that he keeps getting said shitty people to work with. Despite the argument, Geoff isn't having it, and soon, Matt only has one more chance to make it work.In comes someone named Gavin Free.





	take the chance, take the turn

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes u just gotta write a whole ass thing for a rarepair, so welcome to the racing (nascar) au!! quin enables me far too much. but some things to know:
> 
> \- crew chief: person who basically runs the radio and guides you.  
> \- pole position; first position on the inner side of the track. the best spot essentially  
> \- races; how it works is that you have two qualifying races before the official, third race. you qualify by having a decent enough score (and score can be earned on a lot of factors. this fic specifically mentions leading laps, aka how many laps you finished in first)  
> \- nascar has a lot of laps. too many

**(one.)**

“You can’t keep going off at the team just because they said something you didn’t like, y’know. You’re starting to get a real bad rep, Matthew.”

Geoff’s arms are crossed across his chest and paired with the frown lingering on his lips, he’s not at all happy with Matt’s performance. In a rare instance, Geoff looks more like the owner of a prestigious NASCAR team that he is and less like his usual, sleepy self. On his tongue disappointment is a weapon, sharpened and poised at Matt’s throat.

They’re sat at a local bar in Florida, the location of the first race of the season, and they converse in a corner booth away from everyone else. The pit crew and other close friends had left already after a socially acceptable amount of congratulations on Matt’s win; their excuses all danced around the same reasoning of busy schedules, but no one could ignore the weight of the mounting tension between the two heads. One by one they had left, until it left just Matt and Geoff sitting across each other on opposing sides.

“It’s not cheap to run a team, ‘specially if I gotta run interference on your ass 90% of the time,” says Geoff. And if it wouldn’t land his ass in even hotter water, Matt would’ve fucked off by now – this is Geoff’s usual speech, his opening line. Matt knows the whole spiel by now, but he likes his job enough to keep silent. Even kind Geoff could be pushed past his limits. “That’s the fifth crew chief you’ve ran out in two seasons. Two! I can’t just pick any hire up from the street to be in this position.”

Matt stifles the huff that threatens to escape him, already feeling tired of the conversation. He knows that Geoff is only looking out for him – has been, ever since he was recruited by luck in that empty raceway he called home. There’s only so much a driver with a celebrity status can do before people start to turn heads and watch every action with scrutinizing eyes. Matt can’t act how he wants, and sometimes it takes a stern reminder from Geoff.

“You know I’m not trying to get a bad rep on purpose, Geoff,” Matt mumbles. He hunches over to hide, and his arms wrap around himself; he can’t find it in him to make eye contact with Geoff, not when he knows that Geoff is still always right about this topic.  “You should’ve heard the guy anyway. He sounded so fuckin’ condescending!” Matt’s eyes set into a glare at the thought of the crew chief earlier, staring off into nothing. “What was he expecting? For me to listen to him when I know he’s wrong  _ and _ an asshole?”

He doesn’t manage to bite back the scathing words in time, overwhelmed with the irritation and annoyance from the crew chief he made resign. By the time that Geoff has a hand at his head, thumb pressing to his temple, Matt is too late to realize that he’s stepped out of line already.

There’s a brief moment of silence that reigns between them. Cold and exhausted and foreboding – neither of them want to deal with this.

“You’re a good driver, Matthew, I’ll give you that. You won the opening race today,” Geoff finally says clippedly. He pauses as finishes the dregs of his soda, before the metal can  _ clatters _ as he slams it down on the table between them, every emotion of his hiding behind the force. “But you’re acting like a brat. This wasn’t the Matthew I hired all those years ago.”

Geoff pauses there. His eyes fall shut, and Matt can see the way Geoff’s shoulders tremble as he tries to calm down – deep breath in, deep breath out. It repeats over and over again. Geoff has never wanted to be an angry man, and Matt feels guilt twist inside him for pushing Geoff so far.

It’s minutes later when Geoff opens his eyes again, looking like his usual, sleepy self again. The NASCAR team owner is a tiring personality to play, Matt knows, after being Geoff’s driver for years now. He also knows that Geoff isn’t as angry about the issue now, just more concerned, and it bleeds through in the way his brows furrow and his lips frown. 

The years in this business haven’t always been kind to Geoff, and Matt can feel the beginnings of an apology on his lips.

“Get your act together. I called in an old friend of mine, Gavin Free, to act as your crew chief for the next race. You’re lucky he doesn’t know about your reputation,” Geoff informs him. Quiet, subdued. Unsettling. “Do me a favor, Matt, and try not run this one off. He’s a good friend, a better crew chief. He’ll lead you well through the rest of the season if you’d let him.”

Matt just stays silent, sobered up by the conversation. The name Gavin Free runs through his head.

 

 

 

 

**(two.)**

"Testing, testing. 1, 2, 3. Can you hear me, Matt?"

Matt shifts in his seat, adjusting the headset as he does so and clicks the 'Connect' button on his end, makes sure that voice is enabled at all times. He doesn’t want to put in the extra effort of clicking a button to speak each time "I hear you loud and clear. You hearing me alright?"

"Perfect!" Gavin giggles from his end, and a small sound of shuffling papers follow him. "We only have a little bit until we have to line up. Thank god you have an easy number to remember for pole position, but it does give us less time to talk really. You ready for this race?"

Matt tugs on his racing gloves and fixes up his driving suit with a soft scoff, his hands fiddling with the wrinkled spots. Less of a necessity and more of a self-comforting gesture, it's habit by now as a way to calm himself down before he gets hit with too much nervous adrenaline. "I've raced this circuit plenty of times. I'm more than ready, and I already know how to maneuver this track well. It's one of my favorites.”

There’s no clear reply to his message, just this small hum of acknowledgement, and something about it is already setting his short fuse on fire. Maybe it’s from learning to expect the worst from crew chiefs or the presence of a new person leading him, but suddenly, it feels like a slight against him. It plays a flashback to all those other crew chiefs he hated, but at least previous ones acknowledged him. What if this is a way to put him down by ignoring him?

He can’t bite his tongue. Can’t help but let the words escape: "Y'know, if you have something to say, you can say it. I'll be pissed if it's condescending, but I can't reach you until the end of the race at least."

To Matt's surprise and indignation, that manages to pull a short bark of laughter from Gavin just as squeaky as his normal voice. "Appreciate the honesty, mate. But genuinely, I don't really have much to say in response, and I was mulling what you said over anyway. As much as I appreciate Geoff for trusting in my ability to lead you, he's...forgotten that I haven't been to this track in a while," Gavin confesses. "It's good you know your way around here. I'll try my best to improve on your own tricks, just keep me in the loop if you do something more reckless, yeah?"

And Matt - he feels a funny twist of an ache in his chest at how easy Gavin's taken his words in stride. Meant to be challenging as a way to pull out the crew chief's hidden agenda towards him, piss him off while at it, Matt's unsure on what to do with a crew chief who's willing to work with him. His brain fizzles to a halt long enough that he misses the announcement for the cars to get into their lineups. It takes a knock on his window from one of his pit crew members to get his head on straight again.

"Oh, fuck, shit," he curses under his breath. That earns another laugh from Gavin's end, but it's not...condescending. Just genuninely amused. It's enough to leave Matt even more flustered and confused about this new crew chief of his that he wants to hate but can't seem to do so as easily like the others. He tries to play his bluster off, just grumbling, "This better not be a sign of how the race is gonna go. Not after I got pole position in the the Florida race..."

 

* * *

 

"Christ, I forget how exhausting watching cars race 85 laps is. People pay to watch this entire thing, and I'm still baffled by it, honestly."

Matt rolls his eyes from his seat, glad that Gavin would never know about the action. As much as it’s nice to not be constantly demeaned or ordered by a crew chief, Gavin as a crew chief means a different sort of talking -- the sort that involves inane hypotheticals and fluff filling in space where silence would be. He can't deny that he's more appreciative of this type of crew chief, but it’s grating on his nerves. All Matt wants right now is to focus.

He grunts as he turns down Gavin's volume. Not all the way or else Geoff will have his ass for being disrespectful towards the crew chief  _ again _ , but just enough that he can process his own thoughts again. It's amazing how much easier it is to function when he can focus on his driving and not the mindless chatter of a charmingly idiotic man.

Taking a deep breath, he peers at the rest of his competition in front of him. His starting position hadn't been all for naught, but a sense of failure is starting to bubble up inside him; he's led about a quarter of the race laps already, but it means nothing when he's been pushed back to third position for the last ten or so. He knows that the two drivers in front of him can catch up quickly to his amount of leading laps, and if he wants to qualify into the final race, he has to be the first to cross the line.

The rumbling of his car is the loudest thing he can hear, and Matt barely manages to hear the announcers' voice from the watchtower as he crosses the line for another time: "5 laps remaining! Looks like Risinger is still in first and Gibson in second. They may be heading the rest of this race, but Bragg looks to be still hot on their tail! Can he overcome them and keep his pole position?"

Matt scowls, and his foot pushes harder on his pedal. It's becomes more dangerous as he nears the end, knows that if he doesn't up his game now, then he's only going to lose. His eyes dart around as he turns around the bend, trying to find any way to squeeze past Gibson, maybe Risinger if he’s lucky enough to catch them in a bad maneuver – even just one or two more leading laps might be enough to score him more points than them.

He’s tunnel visioning, but it's when he turns around the next curve of the race – sees the familiar indicator of a new lap on the other side of their current position – that his radio crackles to even more life. Distracts him completely so from reaching his zone.

"Matt! Matt! Can you hear me? Hellooo?"

With a huff, he turns up the volume again with some regret. "'Course I can! But I'm currently busy right now, trying to get ahead of these two, and I can't answer any bullshit questions!"

"It's not bullshit questions, first off, they’re curious situations. And second, I’m gonna tell you how to take over second position, you smegpot!" There's a shuffling sound of papers following after Gavin's exclamation. "Okay, second position? Fast driver but always way too cautious! People always fight for the inner track during turns, but Gibson doesn't always. He might play it safe next turn, so try to speed up there."

Matt raises a brow - Gavin noticed that? Even for a crew chief, things like that were difficult to spot; applying it was even more so, when racing was never stagnant. It's a dangerous suggestion, bordering on an assumption with less-than-ideal proof. Any other driver would be adverse to it, rather take the third position as a safety option and choose to hedge their bets on racing better during the next qualifying race.

“You know that’s always dangerous, speeding too fast during a turn?” Matt says, as if danger isn’t his hobby and his muse. “Might spin out of control if I’m not careful.”

“What? You don’t wanna do it? Thought that was your thing, toeing the line being competent and being a madman.”

Matt scoffs. His foot is already set to push down on the foot pedal when the turn comes. “You’d be surprised how blurred the line is between them.”

And that’s answer enough for Gavin, the way his amused hum sounds out over the radio. They both know that Matt's never been one of those other drivers; what else could the data of resigned crew chiefs dictate? “Better prove it to me then!"

Gavin’s words only brings a wild grin to his lips, and suddenly, Matt’s car is shooting forward towards second position as fast as his adrenaline is rising. Any sign of nervousness is imperceptible behind the excitement of such a plan, and then he's honing, honing,  _ honing in- _

His car's tire screeches against the road, high and shrill as he takes that turn too fast, too messily. He's usually more graceful than this, but he can't find it in himself to care, this little bit of recklessness, when there's only one car in front of him instead of two; a quick glance at the rearview mirror and an ear trained towards the audience only confirms his success.

“And would you look at that? Ramsey’s driver is proving himself once again, to be one of biggest threats of the competition. That was one hell of a maneuver there,” the announcers chuckle.

"Woohoo, Matt! That was both the world's shittiest and best turn ever!" Gavin exclaims, and the radio crackles with the volume. “Not too shabby, honestly.”

"Shut the fuck up, Gavin," Matt says, but he's grinning too much to feel any real bitterness. His heart is still beating fast from the rush, and the surprise from the crowd only fuels it. Second position is miles better than third, but he's still gunning for first. "Look, you got any more of that shit for first position? Any way to pass him by?"

"Why, Matthew, I thought you'd never ask." Matt can practically hear the cheshire grin that must be playing on Gavin's lips. "You sure your car can handle the last laps without that original pit stop? Because I'm going to need you to go as fast as you can."

And well, what else can Matt do but go full speed? After all, it's what the crew chief requested of him to do.

 

 

 

 

**(three.)**

"Your time's getting well fast! Faster by .046 seconds, and pushing about .28 miles per hour faster," Gavin informs Matt after jogging up to the driver’s window with statistics about his most recent practice lap. “Still awful using US conversions, but I suppose it’s meant to help you and not me, innit?”

“ _ Well fast _ ,” Matt mocks. He rolls his eyes at the other as he puts the brakes on, but he doesn’t say anything else against the comment; not because he refuses to agree with Gavin, not at all, but because it’s off topic. Definitely. “And random opening line, but alright. That’s not a bad improvement at all though.”

“Definitely not! We’ll just have to see though if you can keep it up in the actual race. Consistency is key here,” Gavin says with an excited, little grin. He looks over his notepad where he’s been keeping track of Matt’s statistics before he nods with a hum, circling the most recent time and speed. He looks at the rows of numbers with something almost akin to pride unknowingly, and Matt has to look away at the sight.

Ever since the second race of the season, when Geoff had first introduced Gavin with barely more than his name and Gavin had won him first place in that qualifying race, Matt’s been getting used to the guy. ‘Like’ is still far too strong of a word, but...tolerate is acceptable. That's what Matt’s been doing, and it’s easier than he had thought.

Gavin’s talkative, excessively so if you let him ramble on for more than necessary, but Matt can concede that Gavin’s also  _ interesting _ . Makes the constant, random conversations less of a drag and entertains Matt enough on most races, if Gavin being clumsy or easily confused hasn’t already. It helps that their humor meshes well, and it makes Matt feel a little less lonely in the driver’s seat.

(It’s also nice to have a partner in crime to bicker with Geoff together. Every day they spend together, Matt swears he can see Geoff’s eyes slowly turn more regretful at introducing them to each other.)

Much more important though, and the only thing Matt would voice out willingly: Gavin  _ understands  _ him as a driver. And that’s not something that Matt say about the past crew chiefs he’s had to work with, remembering how they refused to work with him first. Expecting Matt to bend to their whims, to not retaliate, is like expecting a cat not to claw you after bothering it.

The crew chief has sway over the driver, but it’s in the driver’s hands to make all the choices. Skilled or famed, a crew chief isn’t worth shit if their driver doesn’t want to work with them. Matt’s already had his fair share of them, and he can’t deny that getting Gavin was lucky.

How Gavin knows that, for the most part, Matt is independent; he’s a person who hates forceful orders, likes to do things the way he does whether it’s because of familiarity or adrenaline. Gavin knows the types of maneuvers that Matt prefers, his limit on his skill and execution, his pit stop habits, and even the right words to say when a race is getting tougher than either of them expected. He’s not like any of those stuffy chiefs either, intent on winning for their own reputation and nothing else.

“Right, that’s enough laps for now, yes?”

Matt lets out a distracted noise as he’s pulled out of his thoughts, and he tries to ignore the slight burning of his cheeks. Spending that much thought on Gavin, of all people, feels like a crime. “Wh-What? Already?”

Gavin cocks a brow, and he must be wondering what’s gone wrong with Matt. Matt’s thinking the same, if he’s being honest; he doesn’t know why Gavin is making him feel so much more flustered than usual – why he’s putting in more thought about the man. 

“I think it really is time for a break then. It’s almost lunch, Matthew!” Gavin clicks his tongue, and an expression akin to concern is brewing in his eyes. It twists something inside Matt’s chest, deep behind his ribs. “You’re usually sighing at me and cheering on ‘bout how it was finally time. Is there a problem bothering you or summat?”

Matt doesn’t answer immediately, looking up at Gavin with furrowed brows. His chest is feeling funny with how his heart is racing, faster than even his own car out on the track, and he can’t find the words to explain what’s wrong.  Something  _ has _ to be wrong, since he’s feeling all of these weird things. They’re new experiences, and the unknown of it is unsettling. Absolutely mortifying.

But he doesn’t think he can explain it to Gavin – not right now, at least, or maybe even never – so he doesn’t. “Nah, just got distracted there for a moment,” Matt responds. He’s aiming for casual as he gives a lazy shrug and smile, even when he feels the farthest thing from it. “I was busy wondering about how lucky I am to not get that nose of yours.”

“Huh?! H-Hey, that’s a low blow, Matthew, and you know it!”

And Matt just barely listens as he steps out of his car. This odd, little background noise of his crew chief grumbling and slinging half-assed insults, he tries not to think again about the real reason why he’s so lucky.

(Gavin doesn’t need the ego boost, if he’s being frank.)

 

 

 

**(four.)**

It’s after hours, the bustling crowd that comes with a race already having fizzled out hours ago. With it went the noisy cheers and announcements to leave behind an unsettling quiet. There’s a single, dingy light operating in the garage, and dust particles move in a flurry as Matt gestures wildly.

“Look, I don’t understand why you’re so fucking mad at me.” Matt sighs as he rubs at his temple, a small headache already throbbing at his forehead. “Did I do something wrong somehow? I won the race, I worked with you, and hell, even Geoff seemed happy! Why are you pissed?”

Gavin throws his hands up with an annoyed noise, as if retaliation for Matt’s current ire. He looks tired, even more so than Matt, and maybe if they hadn’t been locked in this stupid argument, Matt would care more. Certainly not now, though. A fight is a fight, especially a sudden one like this.

“I’m not mad, I’m just trying to get you to understand my perspective,” says Gavin, a tightness to his voice that usually isn’t present. He sounds like he’s struggling to keep himself civil and calm, and despite Matt’s irritation, a sliver of dread creeps up on him – no one’s ever really seen Gavin genuinely mad.

Matt tries his best to match Gavin’s own struggle. Whether it’s for the sake of his own composure or the bubbling fear at the thought of a truly angry Gavin, he doesn’t know. He just replies, in a clipped tone in an  _ awful  _ attempt at calm, “You’re not really explaining it to me, Gav. What  _ is  _ it? Why’d you get mad at me?”

He watches how Gavin seems to splutter at that, flustered and frustrated because that's the thing – Matt  _ knows _ Gavin can’t explain his side well. Words have never been Gavin’s forte, and it only gets worse when he’s emotional. Combine it with confrontation, and it’s a recipe for a complete and utter disaster.

Gavin’s lips purse together, his arms coming together to cross in front of his chest. Defensive, secretive.  _ Unsure _ . Eventually, something clicks in his brain enough for Gavin to explain with, “You were a prat today. A complete, cocking idiot.”

And  _ okay _ . That’s one way to explain things, albeit useless as all hell. Something might have clicked, but not enough to actually move the conversation forward. It rests on Matt to figure out the rest, he supposes. 

“I...Okay, so I’m an idiot, meaning I probably did something stupid?” Matt looks questioningly at Gavin; he gets a nod back, meaning he’s right on that front and also slightly offended. But whatever he did anyway, it must have been on the track during the race. “Was it a driving maneuver I did?” Another question, another nod.

Matt sighs, scrubbing the front of his face with his hands — there’s no counting how many kinds of maneuvers he’s made in today’s race, how is he supposed to know which one pissed Gavin off? It’s starting to get to him, this conversation. He just wants to be back in their hotel room to sleep off the day’s weariness, before they’d have to be running around for work again. 

“Look, can you just tell me which one? Describe it just a little, for fuck’s sake, and I’ll figure out the rest!” Matt is exhausted. Gavin must be too. It sucks like all hell for the both of them. “You probably want this talk to be finished as much as I do.”

That earns him a glare from Gavin, but Matt can’t find it in himself to care about that. He just stands there, slightly looming over Gavin in a slow countdown of his waning patience – waiting, waiting,  _ waiting _ for an answer.

(And he does, even when he feels like the last thread of his patience is gone, because this is  _ Gavin _ . Gavin, who he can’t lose as a crew chief after the previous failures and definitely not because he inexplicably has a soft spot for him. It’s all Geoff’s fault, putting him in this situation.)

“It was during the last lap,” Gavin says with a huff. “You were stressed, because you were in fifth position, and you were right by third and fourth. You didn’t know if you’d qualify for the next race if you got fifth.”

Matt’s brows furrow. “Okay, yeah, that’s about right? It turned out I did qualify, even in fifth, but wh—”

“You did a shite manuever! One that I told you not to do, and you didn’t listen!” Gavin interrupts, hands flying into the air. “I usually don’t care if you ignore me, because I trust you to do the right moves, but that? That was real dumb of you, Matthew!”

“You’re still not fucking explaining it to me! What made that one move shitty compared to all the other things I did, huh?!”

“ _Because_ _you could’ve been hurt!_ ”

Matt doesn’t reply. He’s busy giving a confused look, brows furrowed before  _ oh _ – and now looking wide-eyed, like a doe trapped in headlights at the sudden declaration from Gavin’s side. He’s caught up in the twisted frown on Gavin’s lips and the watery, concerned expression of his eyes.

He can’t find the right words to say, if there are any to begin with. 

Gavin seems to take the silence as a cue to keep talking, his fingers fiddling with a loose stray on his sleeve. “It’s just...you were panicking. And you were desperate to move up a place, so you tried to take over fourth, but you were too close. I tried to tell you that there wasn’t enough distance even if you matched its speed, that you wouldn’t have a chance at all to get a higher place, not unless you wanted to...y’know. Cause an accident. It was too reckless, and you only got out safely, because the others knew what you were doing and distanced themselves. I–”

He finally pauses, realizes his entire jumble of words, and he seems to deflate. His shoulders sag with his head looking down and anger dissipating like steam. Gavin looks small like this.

And Matt – he can’t help but do the same, a heated feeling of shame boiling inside him. All along, Gavin was irritated, because Matt was being reckless. The worst type of idiot that he could have been on the racetrack. “Fuck, goddamit, Gavin,” Matt starts, already intent on berating himself.

He hates admitting defeat as much as anyone else does, especially to  _ Gavin _ of all people, but this isn’t like their usual arguments; they were all bicker and banter, the easiest way for them to communicate with each other.  _ This  _ is Gavin, rarely rattled and always unbothered, confessing a fear that only luck and others’ competency managed to impede on.

“Gav–”

Gavin interrupts him near instantly. “Look, I know you like to choose what moves to do and when, and I support it. But only when I know that you can get out of it safely, if it’s compromised,” Gavin explains. Matt does his best to listen completely. “What you did was reckless and selfish back there, and that's saying a lot coming from me, Matthew. I’m your crew chief, and I’m a well lenient one, but...what’s the point if you won’t listen when I need you to?”

He sighs, tired. “I know how these things go. I wouldn’t be a crew chief if I didn’t know all this shite about racing.”

Matt understands now, or at least he thinks he does. He remembers Geoff’s words a long time ago in that local bar and all of the crew chiefs he’s run off without giving it a second thought. How he didn’t listen to either of them once, and only to Geoff when it was serious enough to warrant Geoff to use his authority card. How his own attitude didn’t help the crew chiefs, even if he did think they deserved it.

Watching Gavin stand in front of him now, defeatist nature in plain view with his shrunken stature, Matt feels the searing heat of mortification behind his cheeks. He really has been an idiot, hasn’t he?

Before he can stop himself or subject himself to another of Gavin’s interruptions, Matt reaches out for Gavin – tucks him in close in a tight hug. Chest to chest, his arms fully looping around, and his face pressing against the top of Gavin’s head. He hopes it’s enough for Gavin to see how much Matt, touch averse and always playfully mean towards him, means his next words.

“Sorry for being a prat today,” Matt mumbles into the mess labeled Gavin’s hair. He tries not to think too much about how quickly Gavin had clung onto him, how Gavin is holding onto him so tightly as if letting go meant Matt would disappear. Tries not to focus on the swell of guilt that rises and lodges itself in the back of his throat. “I...should’ve been more careful.”

A brief silence travels between them, and for a moment, Matt thinks that Gavin is about to scold him again. Except he soon feels the way hesitant arms wrap around him, slow and unsure, and the warmth that surrounds him; then the feeling of a nose poking at his collarbone from a face in hiding, and Matt can’t resist it.

“Is offering me your nose a sign we’re good now? I mean, I still wouldn’t want to carry that nose around, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“Matt, you prick! We were having a moment!”

“Not sorry, Gav,” Matt laughs, his heart feeling lighter when he hears British insults and a tentative smile cross Gavin’s lips. He lets himself have this, not hiding how every system is alive at this shared moment between them.

Something more than a just a simple moment, something less than what it could be.

 

 

 

**(five.)**

“Last few races, we’ve been getting a little unlucky, but I think it’s going to change this time.” Gavin’s confident statement makes Matt cock an eyebrow, looking at the other with an expression of  _ ‘Okay, and where is this going?’ _ He barely budges when Gavin slugs a weak punch towards his shoulder. “Look, I’m just saying! I feel like you’ll win this one, cross my heart.”

“That’s a lot of pressure on me, dude,” Matt says. He rummages through his personal locker in the garage, grumbling while he does so, to look for his race suit today. “Also, I dunno. Tom’s racing with me today, and he got pole position, like he always fuckin’ does. Asshole.” And oh, like a magic word, insulting Tom leads to Matt finally finding his race suit.

Gavin giggles from his seat on the bench next to where Matt is standing by his locker, casually swinging his legs. “It’s the rivalry of a lifetime, innit? Tom’s always so nice though, it’s a shame. At least it’ll feel good when you crush him into a pulp after this race!”

“Jesus Christ, Gav…”

Matt’s concern over his crew chief’s joy at inflicting such damage on Tom doesn’t abate, but it  _ is _ put on hold momentarily. Pushes it to the backburner in his brain to focus on suiting up this troublesome outfit. This troublesome position, rival. This  _ terrifying _ race. He feels jittery.

It takes more time than it should with how stiff and plasticy-seeming the suit is, thanks to the fireproof nature for the sake of safety. He bites his lower lip in concentration as he slips it up his legs and pushes his arms through, trying to find the zipper in the mass of fabric. But he can’t seem to hold onto it, grip clammy with building sweat, and his thoughts are spiralling. He’s distracted.

“Matt, love, you alright?”

Gavin’s voice is quiet and low, a stark difference from his usual tone. Matt can’t find it in himself to say much, just lifts his head for his gaze to meet Gavin’s worried own. He opens his mouth and shuts it, open-close, open-close, until he just shakes his head. His hands are trembling.

“Oh, love, you’re really nervous for this race, aren’t you?” Gavin’s hands are soft as it sneaks its way into Matt’s own, their fingers twining with each other’s. He gives a gentle squeeze, and Matt swears that he’s stopped breathing. His eyes are wide, heart racing fast, and he’s feeling off-kilter for a completely different reason now. “C’mon, talk to me, Matthew.”

Matt tries, being left speechless for a moment, as his gaze unwavers from Gavin’s; he wonders if his cheeks are lighting up pink. “I, uh, it’s...just the race, yeah,” he barely stammers out. It takes him longer than it should to get his brain in working order, to try and push past how warm and perfect-fitting Gavin’s hands are. Definitely _ just _ the race making him nervous. “Tom’s been my rival forever, and he won the last two championships. I wanna knock him off his pedestal, but...I’m kinda fucking that up right now.”

“What? What are you on about? You haven’t done anything to cock anything up! Just ‘cos you’re not in first and he is doesn’t mean you’ve lost already.”

And yes, that’s true, but overthinking doesn't believe in that – brain, meet the awful, invasive thoughts. “I’ve made it pretty damn hard to win though! And I always find some way to fuck something up, and I’m just gonna watch Tom win again, because–!”

“Because nothing, Matthew!” Gavin pulls his hand away to cup Matt’s cheek, to make him look directly at Gavin and the intensity in his eyes. “You’re a bloody amazing driver, and you’re going to do good in the race. You can’t count yourself out already!”

Matt lets out a low, pained noise. His insecurity is rearing its head, and for the first time in a long while, he feels unconfident in his driving. And as much as he loves Tom as a friend, having Tom as a rival feels like a nightmare at times. “You literally can’t guarantee that, Gavin.”

Gavin huffs, squishing Matt’s cheek. “Okay, fine, you’re right. But I can guarantee that you’ll do your best,” he reassures, “plus, I might have  _ some _ way to motivate you. Did you know that I actually came out of my mini retirement on Geoff’s behalf to lead you?”

“Hold on, retirement? From what? Geoff never fuckin’ told me!” Matt’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth falling open. That’s complete news to him, and the shock diverts his attention from his useless feelings. “And what does that have to do with motivation?”

That earns Matt a quick roll of the eyes and a soft flick to his forehead. “That’s ‘cos I don’t let Geoff tell people. I retired after a nasty incident on the raceway– hey, don’t look so shocked! Most crew chiefs were former drivers, y’know!” Gavin pouts when he sees a starstruck look enter Matt’s expression, and he tries to hide his pinkening face. “Anyway...a few races ago, Tom and I had a lil’ chat. Turns out he knew my past, and he, uh, tried to hire me for next season.”

Matt blinks. Processes the words, because  _ oh _ , that’s even more news to him; when had Tom find the time to talk to Gavin in private? And who does Tom think he is that he can waltz in, trying to snap up Gavin for himself? That’s abso-fucking-lute bullshit, in Matt’s eyes. His eyes narrow in a glare, a canine slightly bared as ‘pissed off’ overtakes the ‘nervous’ setting.

“Woah, woah, woah! Calm down, love,” Gavin soothes. He brushes his thumb over Matt’s cheek, these slow and soft motions, and Matt huffs as he calms down.. “I turned him down anyway. I’m  _ your _ crew chief, first and foremost. Not anyone else’s.”

Gavin brings Matt close to rest their foreheads against each other’s, and Matt can’t deny how nice it feels. That, and the knowledge that Gavin is loyal to him – calls himself  _ his _ crew chief, like an unintentional claim for Matt. It barely settles down the bristling feeling inside him.

Matt brings his hands up to rest on Gavin’s hips, pressing fingertips into the shirt. “Still doesn’t change that Tom tried to steal you. Fuck my previous words, I  _ am _ going to crush Tom in this race,” Matt glowers. He can’t help but turn his head towards the garage opposite his where said rival is preparing in, only slightly trying to burn Tom with his glare. “He has his own fuckin’ crew chief, greedy bastard!”

Gavin rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, this wild and fiery thing at the sight of Matt’s soul searing again. “That’s the spirit! Fight for me, Matthew!” He pumps his fist in the air, and he does a little dance to go alongside it; bright and peppy, it makes Matt’s heart soar at how adorable the sight is.

Now, he’s given  _ two _ reasons to fight harder. To force those insecurities down and drive like there’s no tomorrow in today’s race.  _ Damn right he’s going to do exactly that. _

“Chin up, Matthew,” Gavin says. He moves to zip up the rest of Matt’s racesuit, presses together the velcro collar, and smoothes out the wrinkles that formed. His hands don’t move from Matt’s shoulder, and his eyes are brimming with belief for a win today. “I really can feel our luck turning around this race. Trust me on that, yeah? I’m your crew chief, after all.”

And Matt listens.

 

**(six.)**

Trust goes far. Extremely so.

If anyone asks Matt about the last few laps of the race, he’ll give an honest answer – he can’t remember much but bits and pieces. The important parts of the race, in his eyes, at least. 

Like the fears that lingered for most of the last few laps. The fear of being so close but still so far, of being not enough despite his attempts; he’d been racing for so long, yet with nothing official to show for it yet while Tom had done so twice. Then there’s failing  _ Gavin _ when he said he’d fight for his crew chief, said with so much conviction, it’d be a shame to fall short. And that’s only the biggest ones. There had been a lot of things on his mind besides driving as he approached the last lap. Maybe not the best time for it, but what could he do now?

The last lap is the messiest memory of them all; there’s the tauntingly familiar back of Tom’s car, decals of every sponsor (far more than Matt’s) littering it and mocking Matt for another loss. It flits in and out of his vision as their struggle for dominance teeters between them evenly. There’s the hard press of a lead foot and the revving of an engine being worked to death, maybe even a few sputters from the force.

It’s the thought of  _ ‘just a little faster, just a little more’ _ repeating itself constantly that’s the clearest bit. There had been a sharp voice – clear and demanding, usually so distracting now a blessing – telling him  _ “pass him, pass him now! on his left, he took a wide turn, it’s open!” _ that shook him. Had him tilting his steering wheel left without thinking, lead foot even heavier, and then –

“Matthew, Matthew, Matt! You won!”

Gavin’s voice is crackling the radio with its volume. It echoes loudly in the car as Matt finally eases his foot off the gas and slams down on the brake. He’s fucking  _ shaking _ in his seat at the news, his eyes watery with about-to-fall tears and cheeks turning red from the emotions welling up in him. Adrenaline is still heady as it pumps through his veins, and he finds his brain still shut down from the intensity of the last lap to reply back. He falls back against his seat, slouches down, and he rests his head in his hands.

He won.  _ Oh, Christ, he won.  _

The laughter that bubbles out of him is only  _ slightly _ maniacal, because  _ he won! _ His entire upper half is shuddering with his laughter and glee, and he doesn’t notice how the other side of the radio is radio silent. Not when he does notice the loud rumble of a crowd’s footsteps getting louder, getting closer to him.

He’s teary as he looks up and sees the proud expression on Geoff’s face. He can’t muster the will to push Geoff away when the man opens up the door to pull Matt out and up into a hug; close and meaningful, Geoff is overjoyed as he swings Matt around in the hug. Geoff is so, so proud.

“You absolute, fucking maniac! I can’t believe you pulled a victory like that outta your ass!” Geoff wheezes when he finally sets Matt down, but he doesn’t ease up on the contact. Keeps his arm slung around and gives the kindest noogie that a person could ever give. “Everyone was shocked! You snatched victory right outta Fawkes’ hand!”

“Jesus, I,” Matt finally manages to croak out. His voice feels shot despite barely using it. “I couldn’t believe it either. But...it was Gav, it was all him. Was yelling so loudly about the maneuver, and I just listened, and...he did it. He won it for us.”

Geoff snorts. He sniffles quietly as he gives a small smile – always been a sappy, teary kind of person – and his head turns away to look at someplace in the mass of people that formed. “Gav did, huh? He’s always been a lucky kid, pulling miracles out of thin air like it’s nothing. And speaking of him, there he is!”

Matt rubs at his watery eyes, looking at where Geoff is pointing at as the weight on his shoulders recedes. And suddenly, the crowd parting like the Red Sea, Gavin is dashing out towards Matt with his arms flailing widely; his grin is blinding as he leaps up without thinking–

“Gavin!”

Matt’s cry is too late. A familiar body is already ramming against the front of his own, and Matt can barely wrap his arms around Gavin before they go down together. His knees collide with the ground loudly, Gavin’s weight landing all by Matt’s side with a soft ‘oof!’ from both of them. They’re pressed up close, and Gavin’s green eyes look wide but jovial as it peers up at Matt.

“Matt! Matt, love, you did it, and you looked like an absolute madman when you crossed the line!” His voice is wobbly, just as fucked up as Matt’s own. He’s coming down from his own adrenaline rush.

“I finally win, and that’s your first words to me?!”

“I’m just being honest, and it looked cool, at least!” Gavin giggles with his nose poking at Matt’s cheek. And as if it was naturally meant to be there, lithe arms wrap around Matt’s neck, brings them even closer. It doesn’t matter that Matt’s racesuit is ruined with the sweat of the race and the dirt from the ground. Matt just returns the act, holds Gavin tightly.

“You won, Matt,” Gavin whispers so happily with his grin blinding like the sun. There’s nothing but pure happiness injected into that, and Matt can feel its infectious nature with his own shaky smile. He can barely keep it together with Gavin in his arms.  “You won the championship.”

Something in Gavin’s words rattles him for good. Matt finally lets the tears fall, a single one at first and then a monsoon. He darts in to close the remaining gap between them, and he sinks into another sort of victory at the feel of soft lips pressing against his; dies the greatest death when Gavjn pushes back, salt of tears and sweetness of affection playing between them, and Matt doesn’t know how he’s held back for so long.

He’s an idiot for playing this off, as if it hadn’t been in the making over months and state lines. As if all that time with Gavin, feeling an odd type of way, wasn’t going to end up like this – with so much fucking adoration in his heart. He’s an absolute fool, but one who’s caught Gavin’s eye.

His hand is cradling Gavin’s head while the other keeps him locked in a tight hug, by the time Matt pulls away. Cheeks are red for a different reason, but no less better – even the annoying flashes from photographers, the crowd of reports trying to zone in, and the cheers and eyes of every pit crew on them can’t ruin this mood. They’re far too focused on each other.

“I fought for you, I fought so fuckin’ hard,” Matt laughs breathlessly. “Tom better keep his dirty paws to himself now, I swear.”

It’s a weird thing to mention now, but Matt doesn’t care. Not when Gavin’s eyes look at him with so much amused affection, the same kind that must be playing in Matt’s own, before he’s brought in for another kiss  – and yeah, he can say that he really did win. 

**Author's Note:**

> please talk to me about braggvin, i love these idiot boys who are stubborn but soft for each other,,,, u can find me on twt/tumblr under seitjun lmao


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